


When You're Near Me (I Feel Like I'm Standing with an Army)

by faithfulpenelope



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithfulpenelope/pseuds/faithfulpenelope
Summary: For so many years, Nick's dreams are dry.Then New Orleans happens.





	When You're Near Me (I Feel Like I'm Standing with an Army)

For so many years, Nick’s dreams are dry.

The endless horizon of the desert; the boundless seas of sand. It’s in their eyes, their lungs, coating them so completely he can’t even feel skin when he grabs Ty’s arm.

“ _Irish,” Ty pleads, and the wind begins to blow.  
_

_“Six,” Nick tries to say. “Ty, please.”  
_

_But the wind strengthens, starts to swirl the sand in tunnels around them, and Ty’s slipping away from him, out of his hands._

_“Ty,” he cries, but chokes instead. Ty, he thinks desperately, but Ty is gone, lost to the sand and the wind and the dry._

But then they go to New Orleans, and they meet the Gaudets and the cartel and Liam Bell, and a bullet meant for Nick’s head meets Kelly’s chest instead. But it touches Nick too, deep inside, and suddenly Nick’s dreams turn from dry to wet, away from the desert dunes to the wet, spongy ground of a New Orleans cemetery, the tombs raised up high so the dead won’t float away.

_His boots sink with each step, leaving a trail he can’t defend against. He hears the shouts of his brothers and runs towards them, and water soaks into his boots and jeans, slows him down. When he gets to them Kelly is on the ground, bleeding out, except the ground is so saturated it won’t accept anything else, so the blood just pools on the surface, threatens to drown them all.  
_

_“Kels,” he gasps, and his hand slips down Kelly’s side. He can’t find the bullet hole. “Baby, hold on, please.”  
_

_“Don’t let go,” Kelly tries to beg, but more blood comes out instead, pouring down his chin and up into his nose, cutting off his airway. He grabs for Nick but his hand slides away, slick and red.  
_

_“Help him,” Nick cries, but they’re alone now, and when Nick looks up for the others he finds blank tombstones instead. Beneath his hands, Kelly’s body shakes and seizes, splashing blood onto Nick’s arms and chest and into his eyes. Kelly’s eyes plead with Nick to help him but he’s sinking into the ground, and the drag is too strong for Nick to fight, his hands too slippery for Kelly to hold.  
_

_“Kelly,” Nick begs, “Kelly, please,” but Kelly is gone, lost to the blood and the ground and the wet._

“Nick.”

The sound comes from up above.

"Nick. It’s me, it’s Doc. Come on, Irish, please.”

Nick comes awake in a bone-jarring start, his unconscious forcing his hands out in defense. Strong fingers wrap around his wrist, not pining him down, but redirecting him away, keeping him from causing harm. A glint against metal catches his eye; _a knife_ , he thinks instinctively, then realizes, no, not a knife, but Kelly’s ring, the light from the bedside lamp bouncing off the titanium edges.

"Kelly,” he gasps, and hears a soft exhale of breath above him.

“Yeah, babe, it’s me,” Kelly says, and his voice, low and steady even under stress, is a salve on the open wound on Nick’s soul. He forces his eyes to focus and there Kelly is, his hair mussed by sleep, his lips set in a hard line. “It’s me, babe,” Kelly repeats, and Nick feels a tiny bit of the weight on his chest release.

“Kels.” He forces his hands to unclench, enough that Kelly releases his wrists and weaves his fingers through Nick’s instead. He drags in a deep breath, offering some respite to his screaming lungs, and tries to think. “Kels. I was dreaming.”

“Yeah,” Kelly agrees softly.

“I was dreaming,” he says again, because it’s that or say _you died, drowned in dirt and your own blood, and there was nothing I could do_. “I was dreaming about you,” still spills out, before he can stop it.

“I know, babe,” Kelly says, and Nick blinks. Kelly’s frown digs deep and sad into his tan face. “You were calling my name,” he whispers, stroking the fingertips of one hand along Nick’s temple and jaw. His eyes storm gray and blue, foggy with pain. “You were – you were crying for me. Begging for me.”

Nick feels his chest shudder as he releases a deep breath, turns his face away Kelly’s palm and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels warm from embarrassment and cold from adrenaline and so shaky he thinks he hears his teeth clacking together. When he’s finally at least mostly confident he won’t choke on his own words, he says, quietly, “it was bad.”

“Because of my appointment?” Kelly hadn’t caught up with Nick yet but his list of specialized physicians was growing, the latest being a yearly visit to a cardiologist to make sure the bullet that skimmed just south of his heart and the surgery to remove it hadn’t caused any damage to his cardiovascular system. He’d gotten the all-clear that afternoon but Nick hadn’t been able to shake off the sickness he felt from the thought that something could still happen, that they still weren’t – never would be – completely free of it. He’d put on a calm face but Kelly’d seen right through it, if the way he’d held Nick extra close before they fallen asleep was any indication.

“Yeah, I guess,” he admits. He finally opens his eyes, wishes immediately he hadn’t, because the first thing he sees is the scar on Kelly’s chest, red and raised. Kelly must track his gaze because he cups Nick’s chin to pull his eyes away, but Nick can’t look at him, not just yet. He looks up and out the sky light instead, at the crescent moon just visible around the clouds.

“Nick.” Kelly’s lips just brush against his neck. “I’m here. I’m alive.”

There’s a spike of anger Nick can’t help, because he _knows_ that, he’s not stupid, the man is lying next to him in his bed. But that knowledge doesn’t mean shit to his subconscious, to that part deep in him that refuses to believe anything but the worst and takes any opportunity it can to fuck with Nick’s reality in the most horrible ways.

“Nick,” Kelly says again, and Nick can’t stop the hard _yes_ that slips out. He closed his eyes again, swallows hard.

"Yeah,” he tries again. “I’m sorry. Yeah. I know.”

He feels Kelly’s eyes on him, the particular prickle of someone watching you with all of their attention. “I suppose it’s not very helpful for me to tell you that,” Kelly says, and Nick looks at him in surprise. The corner of Kelly’s mouth quirks up, just slightly. “I mean, it’s not waking you I have to convince, right?”

Nick makes a small sound, barely a laugh. “If only you could talk some sense into my subconscious, we’d be golden,” he jokes weakly, but it feels hollow, fake. Kelly doesn’t laugh back, just strokes his cheekbones, his temple, with gentle fingers.

“If I could, I would,” he finally says, and his voice is solemn. Nick doesn’t know what else to say so he just tucks his face against the curve of Kelly’s neck and breathes deep, lets Kelly’s warmth and smell calm his nerves. Kelly’s hand runs over his neck, his shoulders, down his arm to his hand.

"Jesus, Nick,” Kelly whispers, his voice harsh, almost sad. “It really was bad, wasn’t it.”

Nick blinks, then feels it, the steady drumming against his thigh as his hand shakes against it. It’s a double dose of shame, that he’s shaking so hard, and that he didn’t even realize it until Kelly pointed it out. He yanks his hand up and clenches it, hard, as if that will hide it, but Kelly just follows, wraps his fingers around Nick’s fist.

"It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kelly says. His face is set in a grimace. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine,” Nick says automatically. “It’s – it’s the nightmare.” He shoves aside the shame and looks Kelly in the eye. “They always shake after a nightmare.”

Kelly nods, and squeezes the fist in his hand. “Of course they would,” he says softly. “The stress on your nervous system must be unbelievable.”

The clinical explanation Kelly offers is a strange comfort to Nick, a rebuttal to his own natural reaction to assume it’s just him being completely and utterly fucked in the head. He dips back down, presses a soft kiss to Kelly’s jaw in silent thanks, then rests his forehead against that same spot. The adrenaline is fading now, and it leaves him feeling weak, unmoored.

“It was really bad,” he finds himself admitting. “I – I haven’t dreamt like that in a long time.”

There’s a long pause. Kelly’s lips part like he’s about to speak, but close without sound. Nick lifts his head to see he looks conflicted.

"Say it, Kels,” Nick says, and Kelly breathes out hard through his nose.

"I feel guilty,” he finally confesses, “because it was my appointment that started all this.” Nick pushes up, ready to tell him _Kelly, no,_ but Kelly hushes him, hastily adds, “which I knows is ridiculous. Neither of us have anything to feel guilty for. This isn’t either of our faults. I just – well, you know as well as I do that if you can assign blame to something, it feels easier to deal with, right?”

Nick sighs, feels it deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, I do.”

“I just – I just wish I could make it better,” Kelly murmurs, and Nick twists their hands so their fingers lace together. Kelly’s palm is warm under his own, and he doesn’t think it’s wishful thinking to feel the shaking in his own hand ease.

“You are making it better, Kels,” Nick says, his voice steady and clear for the first time since he’d woken up. “Just you being here makes it so much better, you don’t even know.”

Kelly smiles, but it’s small, and doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

“Kelly.” Nick nudges Kelly’s chin until he’s looking at him. “I’m serious. You don’t understand – all those years…” He swallows hard. “I’d wake up all alone, gasping for air and – and I’d call Ty and it would help, because he _knew_ , you know, he knew what I was going through, because we were both dreaming about the same thing.”

"The desert,” Kelly says quietly, a deep pain clear in just those two words, and Nick nodded.

“The desert,” he agrees. “But he’d be able to talk me down enough that I didn’t feel quite so much like I was going to shake out of my skin. Talk me down enough so that when I pulled my sneakers on and started out on a run in the middle of the night, I’d remember to come back.”

For a long moment, Kelly doesn’t say anything, just watches him with sad, understanding eyes, the fingers of his free hand rubbing absently along Nick’s side. “But now…” He looks away. “You weren’t dreaming about the desert just now.”

“No.” Nick breathes out, wills the heaviness in his chest to ease a little. “No. I was dreaming about New Orleans. About…” _About blood, and water, and mud._ “About the wet,” he finally says, although he doubts it makes much sense to anyone but himself.

"The wet instead of the dry,” Kelly says, and Nick looks at him in surprise, then shakes his head, almost amused.  Of course Kelly understood; he always did.

“Yeah,” Nick says. “The wet, instead of the dry.” He pauses. “You, instead of Ty.”

“Oh,” Kelly murmurs, a little stunned, and Nick realizes that simple phrase – _you, instead of Ty_ – means worlds more than just a nightmare. But he shakes it off; that’s a discussion for another night, when they’re both not so tired and raw. He rubs Kelly’s arm instead, tries to pull Kelly back to him.

“But this? I know I’m still…” He huffs out a small laugh as he looks for the right word. “I know I’m still tense, but being able to just lay here and talk without feeling like I need to run?” Nick strokes a finger down Kelly’s jaw. “That’s all you, babe.”

Kelly’s smile returns; it’s still small but it’s honest this time, clear in his eyes. He gives a tiny nod, then kisses Nick, sweet and soft. Nick kisses him back, his hand clenched around Kelly’s to keep it still.

Kelly pulls back. Nick makes a small sound of protest but Kelly shakes his head, pushes at his shoulder. “Turn over,” he tells Nick, so he does, comes to rest on his stomach, still facing Kelly so he can watch his lover’s face, which has set suddenly into a look of focused determination.

“Kels?” Nick asks, but Kelly ignores him, turns over on his side and scoots up close until they’re pressing from shoulder to toes. He must sense Nick’s concern because he dips in, nudges his nose playfully against Nick’s cheek, and Nick smiles, assuaged. Then he’s pulling his hand free to stroke it through Nick’s hair, scratching gently at the scalp. Nick can’t help the little sound he makes, surprised delight, and arches his neck into the touch, but Kelly pulls away again.

"Wha –”

“Just lay back and let me do this,” Kelly says softly, _let me take care of you_ unsaid but clear. Then he’s pushing up, swinging his leg over so he’s straddling Nick’s back. Both hands are in Nick’s hair now, and Nick moans as the relief floods down his spine. Kelly gives his curls a little tug before moving down to his neck and massaging there, then his shoulders. His strong hands – so capable, so familiar to Nick, even before those hands had ever touched him in a sexual way – dig deep into the tight muscle, forcing the knots to give way and release.

"Oh, fuck,” Nick whispers, because it’s like Kelly’s turned on a magic faucet to let all the tension drain out of his body. “ _Babe_.”

“That’s it, Lucky,” Kelly murmurs, his hands pressing along Nick’s shoulder blades and back. Nick’s spine pops twice in rapid succession, a deeply satisfying sound. “ _Good_ , Nick. Let it go.”

Nick nods limply, not sure he’s capable of speaking, not with Kelly massaging firm strokes against his lower back and down over his buttocks. It’s not a sexual touch, but it’s intimate in a way that warms Nick’s chest the same time Kelly’s hands warm his skin. He lets his legs fall open as Kelly shifts back to work on his thighs, his fingers dipping into the crease where the leg meets his ass for just a moment before pulling away again. He skims around the back of Nick’s knees, avoiding the ticklish spots there, to sweep down his calves and run his knuckles hard into the flats of Nick’s feet. Nick moans again, twists his hips against the pleasurable pain, his arms wrapping tight around his pillow.

"Turn over,” Kelly orders softly, guiding Nick’s legs as he manages to flip himself to his back. The simple action seems to take up the last of his energy, and his arms and legs flop out wide, leaving him completely open to Kelly’s whims. Nick doesn’t care; he trusts Kelly far too deep for that. His eyes are barely open but he can just see Kelly smile before he ducks his head back down to rub at Nick’s ankles, then up his calves. His touch gentles around Nick’s repaired knee, then over the scar in his thigh, under which sits the small, sharp piece of metal that has plagued him for twenty years. Then Kelly moves forward between his thighs and spreads Nick’s legs, the deep press returning as Kelly massages deep into the hip flexor. In any other situation Nick would be hard, straining for Kelly’s touch against his dick, but the drain of the nightmare and the adrenaline crash combined with Kelly’s massage have left him too tired for anything but just laying still and _feeling_. Kelly doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try anything, just skims his hand over Nick’s lower belly and rubs there for a few seconds before sliding his hands up to Nick’s pecs and kneading the muscles there. He moves up until he’s sitting on Nick’s hips again, his ass resting on Nick’s pelvis, and Nick finds the energy to slide his hand over and cup Kelly’s thigh, just to have Kelly’s skin under his hands. Kelly smiles again, leans down and places the smallest kiss to the corner of Nick’s mouth before lifting again and taking Nick’s other arm up. He massages the shoulder, Nick’s bicep, before working down the forearm, his thumbs circling along the patterns of the dense gauntlet tattoo. Then he takes Nick’s hand in his, pressing into the palm, then the webbing between the thumb and pointer, before rubbing each finger individually. When he’s done, he kisses the palm and places it on his own thigh, and switches to the other arm, repeating his movements.

“Kelly,” Nick whispers, limp with stunned relief, because his hands aren’t shaking anymore. “Kelly –”

 _"Ssh_ ,” Kelly whispers back. “I’m almost done.” His fingers massage deftly into Nick’s neck, then his chin, then up his face to his cheekbones, where his thumbs swipe along the raised bone. Nick sighs, so deep and gratifying it shakes his body almost like a little orgasm, his hands squeezing almost involuntarily into Kelly’s thighs. Kelly runs his fingers up to rub over Nick’s eyelids, his nose, before finally coming to his forehead and temple and pressing into the pressure points there, and Nick’s eyes finally drift shut, surrendering completely to Kelly's touch.

"That’s it,” Kelly murmurs. He slides along Nick until he’s on his side next to him again, then uses his own body to curl Nick up on his side. Nick sinks back against him, his back to Kelly’s chest, sighs with total contentment when he feels a soft, dry kiss against his neck. “Now go back to sleep, baby,” Kelly orders against his ear, and Nick nods.

“I love you,” he mutters, his voice sleep-drunk and slurred. “I love you so much, Kels.”

"I love you too,” Kelly says through the fog of sleep already pulling Nick under. “Now sleep, Nick. Because whatever happens, I’ll take care of you.”

 _I know you will,_ Nick wants to say, because he feels it, down deep, feels it as a guard against the monster inside that has just tried to pull his world apart. _I know you will_ , he just thinks instead, and falls into sleep, peaceful and calm.


End file.
